


Sparkling, bubbling, laughing

by sixxxteentons



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/F, Fluff, merrill is autistic, subtle nsfw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-08
Updated: 2016-12-08
Packaged: 2018-09-07 08:32:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8790787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sixxxteentons/pseuds/sixxxteentons
Summary: Merrill loves Isabela, Isabela loves Merrill. It's easy, it's tough. But mostly it's just good.(Written for the kinkmeme)





	

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt was: "Friends, I've recently been reminded how much I love our pirate queen and I would love to see a fic devoted to her. I want to see an LI who is stupidly, ridiculously in love with her and spends the entire time thinking about how amazing she is. I'd love if they were in a relationship, but make it however you like.
> 
> F/F or M/F or NB/F is all good. I don't care who you pair her with, just make it fluffy and sweet. Smut is fine, but if so, a bit more vanilla please." I hope I delivered somewhat.

It's enough to watch her from across the room and the breath in Merrill's chest hitches, she's giddy, she's floating, her smile is so wide she fears her empty head will fall open (can heads do that? Maybe they can today. Yes)  
Isabela, Bela, her Isa-dori-Bela is smiling too, at the man next to her, nodding in time to his tall tale; she's done this a thousand times Merrill is sure, smile like that to get what she wants. The man is paying for Isabela's drink. Drinks. One whiskey, one wine, sparkling, for Merrill, to match Merrill's bubbling, excitable blood. Of course the man is paying. "Because, Kitten, everything tastes better when it's free."  
She can hardly believe it, that Isabela and her are together. It's been weeks, it's still fresh, and Merrill still suspects this might be one of her vivid daydreams. But when Isabela rolls her eyes and shoots a sarcastic glance across the dingy tavern room, it's Merrill she's aiming for. Because it's their joke. It's Merrill she wants to share it with.  
"Look at that smile," says Hawke beside her and nudges Merrill's arm. Merrill beams, but can't tear her eyes away for long because Isabela is perfect. If Hawke says something else, she'll have to hope someone else is replying because now she's coming over, with her confident stalk, leaving the poor man in the dust behind her and she's here, her perfume is on the air...  
"Here you go, Kitten. Savour it. Someone paid good money for this..."  
"Thank you. He won't be too cross, will he?"  
"Oh no. Not when I promised him I'd convince you to let him join us later for a... night cap."  
"I'm not sure I want to do anything with him. He looks... very hairy."  
"Of course not. When do I ever keep my promises?"  
Isabela always does this. Merrill shakes her head. People, elves, humans and dwarves alike (but probably not Qunari. Oh, if only they weren't so scary! And boring...) say so much they don't mean, and it's hard to know if they mean something else entirely or if they just talk. But Isabela makes sense, even when she doesn't. She thinks so little of herself sometimes that she needs to tell the world she's rotten, but then she says it like a joke, so people around her will laugh. Everything's easier to Bela if you laugh at it. But she doesn't laugh at Merrill. Because Merrill is worth complicated.  
Oh, it's too much. That Isabela's sitting here beside her, with the warm skin of her leg pressed against Merrill's own, that they're going to walk home together when the evening's done - which home doesn't matter - and Merrill is going to wrap those gorgeous legs around her head and do her very best to eat her human alive. She's finally convinced Isabela that she's not such an innocent and fragile flower that she can't take direction, so now when she does anything wrong, she's sure to know it right away. What could be more exciting? And flattering? Than to be trusted with the truth. Even - especially - the "ah!! Maker, will you trim those claws before you go prodding around in there?!" kind of truth.  
She lets the pressure of her feelings out with one long, giddy sigh and leans on Isabela's warm, round shoulder.   
Isabela laughs and presses a sticky kiss on Merrill's forehead.  
"What's going on in there, hm?"  
"Oh... I'm just so happy here."  
"In this shit hole? We need to get you out more." And then Isabela laughs and bends her head to brush her lips against Merrill's ear. "By the way, you little minx. My fingers still smell like you."  
"That's terrible!" Merrill bursts out, much too loud. "Don't you wash your hands?!"  
It sounds like Hawke is choking, and Merrill looks over to see if she can help but Hawke's leaving her seat, shaking her head and walking to a different table. Isabela gently smacks Merrill's arm. "How am I supposed to talk dirty to you if you're so preoccupied with hygiene?"  
Merrill thinks it over again and then feels her cheeks glow even pinker. "Oh."  
"Now she gets it..."  
As Isabella drains her glass, Merrill cups hers in both hands and slowly turns it between them. The bubbles rise in long strands, swaying, popping, reflecting the light. She only realises she's frowning when her head begins to hurt and a soft touch on her chin prompts her to tear her gaze from the pretty display to an even prettier sight. Isabela turned towards her with her full focus and a look of wistful concern on her stunning face. "What's the matter this time, Kitten?"  
"I just..." Merrill sighs again, and her words are hardly any louder. "Doesn't it get tiring? Me. There's so much I don't understand... I..."  
This kind of talk is not comfortable or easy for Isabela. She knows that. And she hunches, and regrets that she brought it up. But it must be tiring, always having to double back to make sure that she follows along...  
But Isabela is too good. She only grimaces for a moment before she finds the right words.  
"You think you're the boss of me?"  
"No! Never!"  
"You think you're smarter than me?"  
"How could I?"  
"So I decide?" Merrill nods. Isabela nods too, with a lot more determination, and with a wry smile on her lips. "That settles it, then. Well, I've decided I want to go home with you tonight and have my wicked way with you. And tomorrow night. And I might decide the same the night after that. Will that suit the lady?"  
"Yes, Isabela..." Merrill gets it and doesn't know whether to feel happy or even sillier. Perhaps she doesn't have to choose between the two.  
"That's right," Isabela jokes, but firm enough to declare the matter settled. "Besides. If there's so much you don't understand, just leave the serious thinking to me and look pretty."  
Oh, Isabela's so clever. Not because she knows better, but because she knows just what to say to make the big things seem small and the frightening thoughts look silly. With just one little joke, all Merrill's fears are gone for another day, for however long this lasts. And the world is easy.  
With Isabela, she never feels stupid. She never feels as if her difference is a nuisance. It's just there, get over it, whatever, they have better things to focus on. Adventures, kisses, loot, beds, jokes, parties, dances, pranks, all theirs to share, together. Merrill might have been a lot of things to Isabela but no matter what she'll be, she'll never be a joke to her. Because the only things Isabela laughs at are the things that are unimportant. She finds Merrill important. And Merrill's bubbling happiness is back, threatening again to overflow, into song, vomit, laughter, interpretive dance - Merrill's not sure which, or which one would be more wrong.  
"You're wonderful," she whispers instead.  
"I know, sweetheart," Isabela whispers back with a laugh, right by Merrill's neck, and it tickles, and Merrill laughs back. "I know."


End file.
